Leading Player
by meg143562
Summary: No one has seen the mysterious actors from the controversial show, Pippin, for several decades. That is, until the year 2047. A young writer for the NY Times, Charlotte, writes to her sister about how she was given the task of interviewing one of the actors.
1. Chapter 1

September 6, 2047

Dear Rachel,

I realize that I've said this to you many times before, but I've been given my most important and relevant assignment yet! Well, it's relevant to you and me at least. Do you remember that story our father used to tell us, about the boy who wanted to be completely fulfilled? He traveled miles and miles, only to find that complete fulfillment is synonymous with love (at least, I think that's what it was). Remember how we'd always ask our father what the boy's name was, only to have him shrug and change the subject?

Today, Mr. Richler handed me an old program from a show called _Pippin_. He said it was a circus performance with a storyline embedded in it, the first of its kind. The story was about a boy, Pippin, who wanted to find complete happiness. His journey is recounted through acrobatics and lighting effects, leading up to the perfect (yes, the program said 'perfect.' I know how much you hate that word) final act. I'm not describing it well, but it sounded so similar to our father's story. I wish I could send you a copy of the program so you could see for yourself, but the original is so faded that nothing would show up on a copy. Anyway, Mr. Richler told me that the show closed because the director was accused of manslaughter. It had something to do with the treacherous stunts the show entailed. When the show was accused, however, the cast and crew disappeared without a trace. For decades, no one was able to find the members of the lost circus. That is, until a few days ago, when an anonymous source found the name and address of one of the actors. Her name is June and, according to the source, she was the ring leader of the circus. My assignment is to interview her about the show and to extract as much information about the controversy as possible.

I'm really not supposed to tell you any of this, Rachel. Mr. Richler won't even tell me where the interview is going to happen, for fear of June's location being leaked to the public. He says I won't know until tomorrow, which is quite inconvenient since I have to travel to this unknown location, you guessed it, tomorrow.

Like always, I trust that you'll keep all of this between us. I don't even have to say that, though, Ms. Confidentiality. You've always been the secret-keeper, ever since grade school.

I should really start packing now, even though I haven't the faintest idea _what_ to pack. Sweatshirts or tank tops? Jeans or shorts? I guess I'll just wing it.

I'll message you tomorrow or the day after. Send my love to your little darlings.

Your big sister, Charlotte


	2. Chapter 2

September 7, 2047

Dear Rachel,

"Meet me in St. Louis, meet me at the fair..." Remember that old movie? The girl from The Wizard of Oz was in it. I think that was the movie we replaced for our grandmother when her VHS copy broke? Anyway, there aren't any fairs to go to here, but I'm in St. Louis, MO. The trip here wasn't so bad, but I'm looking at the directions that Mr. Richler gave me to June's apartment, and he wrote on the side, "Don't talk to anyone on her street." That's just great, I'm risking my safety for an interview. The things I do for this company, man.

That's all I have for now, sis. I'll message you tomorrow (if I live to see tomorrow's sunset!).

Love, Charlotte


	3. Chapter 3

September 8, 2047

Rachel,

I have so much that I want to tell you, so I'm just going to start from this morning. I drove from my hotel, with all my recording equipment in the back, to an apartment building that couldn't possibly house more than two hundred people. I parked out front and brought my stuff inside. June lives on the third floor, so of course, the elevator was out of order. Just my luck, right?

Once I had trekked up the narrow stairway and made it safely to her floor, I passed a woman whom I doubt was much older than me. I only glanced at her, remembering Mr. Richler's note. Her countenance was not exactly friendly, but she was carrying a child on her right hip, which eased my apprehension. It sort of reminded me of the way you carry your boys.

I found her door, 305, and pressed the button on the side. For two minutes, no one came. I pressed it again. Nothing. I reached to knock on the door when a large man, probably in his forties, approached me.

"Who're you?" he slurred. He was obviously wasted. Imagine that, Rachel, drinking at ten in the morning!

"I'm just here to visit June," I responded politely, not looking him in the eye.

The drunk man stumbled towards me and grabbed my hair. "I never seen 'range hair before," he grunted as he pulled my hair up to his face. God, everyone is so taken with my goddamned hair. Yes, it's orange and curly, now please stop touching it!

"Um, ah, you're hurting me, sir," I said, my voice escalating, "Let go now! Let go of my hair! Let..."

The door to 305 swung open. Out stepped a small, black woman with a wooden cane. She was wearing royal blue yoga pants and a tank top that was clearly discolored from years of washing. Her posture was off and the lines on her face gave away her age, but something about her eyes told me that she was once absolutely beautiful.

"Go home, John," she said sternly, hitting her cane on the floor. With that, the man nodded slightly, let go of my hair, and staggered down to the other end of the hall in a drunken haze.

The woman placed her cane directly in front of me. She asked, "Are you Charlotte, the interviewer?"

I nodded quickly. "Are you June?"

She raised her chin. "Yes, I am." She gestured to my various electronics. "Bring all that inside before John finds his way back here."

Once June had shut the door behind us, I scanned the room for a good place to set up my equipment. There was only one flat surface with enough room for everything, her dining table. "May I set all this up over here?" I asked, although I was already walking to the table.

June held up her hand. "Just put it down. I don't want to start yet."

I complied. It was still early; we had plenty of time.

She then pointed to the single chair at the table and told me to sit. I did as she instructed without questioning her (you and I both learned in retail not to question the elderly unless it really matters).

June stood about a foot away from me. "Tell me, Charlotte," she said, standing as straight as she could, "Tell me everything you know about _Pippin_."

I told her what I knew; her supposed role in the circus act, the controversy involving manslaughter, and the program I was shown.

"Listen," she said, "_Pippin_ was unlike any other show of its time, and not for the reasons you think. I need you to forget everything you've heard about it, because no living person knows _Pippin_ better than I do." June leaned forward on her cane. "_Pippin_ was brilliant," she whispered, "You've got to promise me that whatever you do with what I tell you, you'll make sure the world knows that _Pippin_ was brilliant.

I promised I would.

"Good," she said, her voice still low. She raised herself from her hunched position. "Where should we begin?"

There's more to be said, but I can't continue to write like this. Writing like an interviewer won't do justice to everything she's told me thus far. It needs to be a story and, more importantly, it needs to be told by her. I don't usually write like that, Rachel, but I think I'll give it a shot.

Wish me luck!

Love, Charlotte


	4. Chapter 4

My first memory is of my mother screaming. She wasn't screaming at me, though. No, her anger was directed at my father. "Cheater," she yelled at him, over and over. My father wasn't yelling back at her, probably because she was right.

My father died in March, 1981, and it was only a matter of weeks before my mother succumbed to the same fate. I remember a nurse handing my mother a telephone the day my father died. She talked into the receiver about "AIDS" and "foster care" as I stood next to her, unable to comprehend what was going on. When she hung up, she noticed my upset and confused expression. In an attempt to say something reassuring, she took my tiny hand and said, "You're going to be fine, baby."

A few weeks later, I was standing at the front door of a brownstone, far from my old home in the South Bronx. There was a man standing next to me, holding a bag with some of my belongings. An unnaturally tall lady opened the door and told me to go inside. She looked absolutely exhausted. The man handed over the bag, spoke to her tersely, and then walked off as the lady shut the door behind him.

There were four other little black girls living in the brownstone. All I remember concerning them was when they circled around me as I opened my bag on that first day. There was no ill-intent, just genuine curiosity. My bag mostly consisted of clothes, but the picture of my parents that had been haphazardly thrown in intrigued them.

"Are they alive or dead?" one of them asked.

"Dead," I told them.

As it turns out, all of their parents had passed. They showed me a little table in the living room where they kept any pictures they had of their families. There was just enough space on the table for my picture. I set it down and stepped back. The five of us admired the display.

We were all about five years old.


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't stay in the brownstone for very long. On a rainy morning in May, 1981, we all awoke to a frantic knocking on the door. The unnaturally tall lady, whom we called "Ms. Claire," dashed down the hall in her bathrobe to see who was visiting us at such an early hour. The five of us tip-toed behind her, keeping a few feet away so she wouldn't notice.

Ms. Claire opened the door to two gentlemen standing in the rain. One, a black man, looked between thirty and forty and wore an old top hat. The other was white and looked a little younger. It was the first time I had seen two men of different races stand together.

The white man stepped towards Ms. Claire. "Good morning," he said warmly, "My name is Christopher Stevens. I've heard that some of your children are without living relatives. Is that true?"

At first, Ms. Claire was taken aback by his bluntness, but she quickly recovered. "Do you have any idea how early it is?" she whispered harshly, still unaware that the five of us were behind her. "You could have woken my girls with your knocking. Hell, you could have woken the entire neighborhood!" She pointed to the black man. "Who is he? He's not looking for a kid _with_ you, is he?"

"Ms., my wife is working in Philadelphia," the white man reassured. He gestured to the black man, "This is my friend, Benjamin." Benjamin tipped his hat. "Since my wife couldn't be here to help me find a child to adopt," Mr. Stevens continued," I recruited my most trusted friend for assistance."

Ms. Claire nodded and agreed to let them inside. Unfortunately, she turned around quite suddenly and caught us behind her. Clearly, we added to her agitation, but she was too tired to yell. "Go put some nice clothes on," she told us, pointing down the hall.

"Oh, wait," Mr. Stevens interjected, "Please let us take a look at them now."

We glanced at Ms. Claire, who shrugged and waved him towards us. We lined up in a row, just like we were trained to do when prospective parents visited, as Mr. Stevens and Benjamin walked towards us.

Mr. Stevens got down to our level and began talking to two of the girls at the left end of the line. I was second from the right. I looked up and happened to make eye contact with Benjamin. He smiled down at me. It had been a long time since someone had smiled at me, so I unabashedly smiled back. Suddenly, his countenance changed and he just stared at me. He reached for Mr. Stevens without breaking his gaze.

"Chris, look at this girl," he said in a hushed tone. I had stopped smiling at this point. Benjamin said, "Smile again, sweetheart."

I smiled again and Mr. Stevens' eyes widened. "Look at that smile," Benjamin said, still whispering, "Look at those eyes."

Mr. Stevens kneeled in front of me. "A long time ago," he said, "I saw a show called _Gypsy_, and in that show there's a character named June. When I saw it, the actress who played June had a big smile and bright eyes, just like," he poked my nose affectionately, "you."

Back then, my name wasn't June. It wasn't until after Mr. Stevens carried me out of the brownstone on his shoulders that I asked if he could call me June, like the girl in _Gypsy_.


	6. Chapter 6

The next thing I remember is the bus ride from Manhattan to Philadelphia. Benjamin was sitting next to me, and he told me a story unlike any other.

"A long time ago, there was a prince named Pippin," he began, "and he was in a state of confusion. You see, he longed to find something in the world that would completely fulfill him. He fought in wars, led a revolution, even fell in love, but he wasn't satisfied. That is, until he found a circus that desperately needed a final act. Pippin finally discovered that this circus, this final act, would be the one thing that gave him the fulfillment he yearned for. He performed in their final act, the crowd cheered, and all was well."

Mr. Stevens, who was in the seat in front of us, turned around. "Did you like that story, June?" he asked.

I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Benjamin give a thumbs-up to Mr. Stevens.

"Listen," Mr. Stevens continued, "Back in 1975, Benjamin and I created a show called _Pippin_. It tells prince Pippin's story through magic and acrobatics. The show has been a hit for the past five years. There was, however, one problem the last time we performed. I was told by several people that one of our actors was too old for his character. The character was Theo, the young child of the woman Pippin falls in love with. The boy who was playing him has a different role now, but we need someone to replace him."

Benjamin placed his hand on my shoulder, "We think that you would be the perfect person to play Theo in our show."

"But Theo's a boy," I contested. "A girl can't play a boy."

Mr. Stevens said something along the lines of, "It's theater; anything's possible," and I agreed to give it a try. The both beamed at me.

"You're going to love it," Benjamin said.

"Absolutely," Mr. Stevens added.

I still had one question. "Mr. Stevens, who are my new parents?"

He leaned over the seat to get a little closer to me. "Well," he said, "I'd like you to call me 'Papa.' As for your mother, you'll meet her when we get to Philadelphia."


	7. Chapter 7

The moment we stepped out of the train station, I saw my mother. She wore a bright yellow dress with a single black stripe down the right side. Around her neck, a simple, silver chain with a key hanging from it. When she saw me between Papa and Benjamin, she gleefully ran up to me and crouched down to my level. She had sapphire eyes, a dazzling contrast to her light brown skin.

"Hi there!" she exclaimed, placing her hand on my cheek, "What's your name?"

"June," I responded. I smiled at her the way Papa and Benjamin liked; her smile widened.

My mother looked up at Papa, "She's perfect, Christopher," she said.

"She sold us on that smile," Papa said, pointing down at me, "She was made for this"

"So she knows what's going on, right?" my mother asked him.

I jumped up and down, exclaiming, "I do, I do! I'm gonna be Theo on stage!"

My mother nodded excitedly. "Exactly," she said.

She then stood up and began directing us towards the car. Papa lifted me up onto his shoulders and we set off, my new family and I. Where we were going was a place I never could have imagined.


	8. Chapter 8

Out of the city, down a dead-end street, and across an extensive parking lot was a gigantic circus tent. The outside wasn't exactly extraordinary; it was just a gray tent in the middle of a field. When I stepped inside, however, I was overwhelmed with vibrant colors and unfamiliar sounds. The inside of the tent was covered in yellow and orange stars, perfectly spaced on an aqua canvas. The stage was adorned with flowing silks and streamers. Every set piece, from the arch upstage to the rolling staircase at stage right, gleamed under the bright lights. There were several people on the stage, all in ornate costumes that must have taken ages to craft. More importantly, the people were _singing_! Not just in-the-shower singing, but real singing, like on the radio. Although, no radio I'd ever owned had produced such an amazing sound.

_Morning Glow,_

_by your light,_

_we can make the new day bright..._

Benjamin let go of my hand and ran up onto the stage. As soon as he'd taken his place, someone handed him a crown, which he then proceeded to place on another performer's head.

_Morning glow is here at last!_

The stage faded to black for about a second. At five years old, however, a second is perceived as a century, and I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. Thankfully, the lights came back on. Papa picked me up and started towards the stage. My mother followed close behind.

"You guys sound absolutely wonderful," he said as he put me down.

Suddenly, a boy of about thirteen ran from stage left and jumped off the six-foot ledge. He first hugged my mother, then walked up to me. His costume was much simpler than the ones the grownups had on. It was just a gray tunic with green tights. His feet were bare and calloused.

I turned to Papa. "Who's that," I asked, pointing to the boy.

"That's Andrew," he said. "He's been playing Theo for the past five years."

"He's also your brother," my mother added.

Andrew pushed his long, blond hair out of his face and held out his left hand to me. I cautiously took it, and he walked me a few steps towards our mother. He held my hand up to hers. We didn't match perfectly; her skin was a few shades lighter than mine.

It didn't seem to faze Andrew. "Mom," he said, "we should get a picture of all four of us. One that we can hang up."

She laughed, "We can do that later, but you forgot to ask your sister something.

Andrew stood pensively for a moment, then got down on his knees. "What's your name?"

"My name is June," I said.

He looked up at Papa and asked, "Now?"

"Sure," he responded. Andrew ran up the carpeted stairs at the front of the stage; Papa helped me walk up. The four of us walked across the stage as the other performers looked on.

As we went through the backstage door, I heard Benjamin say to the others, "That kid is going to shine brighter than any of us." At that moment, I promised myself that I would prove Benjamin right.


	9. Chapter 9

The next month or so consisted of twelve-hour rehearsals six days a week. We would begin our day by warming up our voices with the musical director, Mary. I followed along as best I could, but the results were less than desirable. Afterwards, we'd run the show twice. While the other actors were rehearsing Act One, my mother would run lines with me. I didn't know how to read, so she would read them out loud and I'd recite them back. During Act Two, Papa, the director, helped me learn my blocking. It only took me a week to have everything down.

However, there was something I didn't understand: each time we ran the show, a different actor played Pippin. We must have had two and a half dozen Pippins! When I asked Andrew why, he said, "It's just part of what makes _Pippin_ different from any other show. We never have the same actor play Pippin twice." I received similar answers from other cast members.

June 27th was our opening night. We were only going to perform the show twice in Pennsylvania; on Monday we had to pack up and head to a different state. Before the show, I was waiting backstage for someone to put my stage makeup on when one of the Pippins walked in.

They were never friendly, the actors who played Pippin. I only heard them talk while they were on stage. They would only look at me when we were in a scene together. After rehearsals, they would slink back to the three trailers they shared behind the tent.

Being the friendly child I was, I got up and tapped the actor's arm. He didn't look at me; he just turned his head slightly. "Good luck today," I said. He gave a slight nod and trudged out of the room.

The show itself went really well, so well that we sold out tickets for our second performance that night! When I first walked out onto the stage, carrying the plastic duck that was supposed to be my beloved pet, the audience gave a collective, "Aww." When my scenes were over, several cast members held out their hands for high-fives. Andrew picked me up and squeezed me right before he had to run on stage again.

I watched the final scene from the wings; Pippin was standing above what looked like a billowing fire. Benjamin, who served as the Leading Player in the show (kind of like a narrator and a ringleader combined), stood in front of the flame. He gestured up to Pippin, who proceeded to dive into the "flame." The audience jumped to their feet and applauded. The pit band played triumphant music as Benjamin bid the audience farewell. The curtain closed, the fire went out, and the crew ran on to clean and reset the stage. Benjamin ran right past me as he went through the backstage door. I followed close behind.

"Benjamin!" I shouted, closing the door behind me, "that was amazing!"

He whirled around and scooped me up. He didn't look too happy. "What did you see?" he asked.

"I saw Pippin jump into the fire!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms above my head.

Benjamin nodded, still looking concerned. "June, you're really not supposed to be in the wings like that. What if someone had seen you? That wouldn't have been good."

I hung my head. "I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't worry about it," he replied.

Later, I noticed that the actor who had played Pippin that night wasn't around anymore. He must have left, I thought, since an actor is only allowed to play Pippin once. Honestly, I can't say I missed him.


End file.
